Let Me Go On Without You
by snoobydoobydoo
Summary: What would have happened if Cato had killed Peeta before Katniss found him? How will she survive without her star-crossed lovers act? Who will win now? What alliances will be made?
1. Chapter 1

Let Me Go On Without You

**A/N: Hi guys another fic I made ages ago but only found now. Please rate, review and check out my other stories if you like this! **** x**

**Snoobydoobydoo **** xxxxxxx**

Katniss POV

'Peeta! Peeta!' I called out, my throat hoarse.

I knew it was stupid for me, especially with two bloodthirsty Careers lurking God knows where, but it had been days since the last time I had seen a tribute, Rue. _Rue_. I was carrying her pack on my shoulders, was wrapped in her coat as well as my own, and I only had to breathe to take in her flowery scent.

I scaled along a stony brook adjacent to a small stream. I sat down by the stream, filled my flask with water and examined Rue's pack. Some crackers, a homemade slingshot, some arrows she'd stashed for me, _and some groosling_. I had never tasted something so succulent in ages. I polished off half of the leg with a cracker and a big gulp of stream water. It was my own feast.

I packed up everything and then journeyed through a rocky plateau. This arena has everything, I noted to myself as I came across a small cave.

Then the cannon sounded.

I heard it loud and clear and winced. Who was left? Me, Thresh, Cato, Peeta and Clove. Oh, and Foxface! I always forgot about her. She has played it so sneaky and clever, the Capitol are properly beside themselves with laughter about her. I hope they choke on their laughter.

But it could be her. Maybe the Careers have finally found a way for their colossal brute strength to overpower her superior intelligence. Then I dwell shortly on the thought a Career has died. Maybe they've turned on each other and fought to the death. The idea of an injured Cato – I've seen Clove with a knife – walking around the arena leaves me optimistic for when I've found Peeta. We could do it, him and me.

Or its Thresh. He was always on Cato's mind, that such a strong, fearless tribute could ever be _reaped_ from such a poor, poverty-stricken district. But no one has seen him since the Cornucopia. Why couldn't it have been me who could find some distant meadow to hide in? Thresh could have held up, I'm sure.

And then I wonder if its Peeta. He was with the Careers. He's turned on me, the Capitol and our star-crossed lovers act and perhaps is paying for it?

It can't be Peeta. It just can't be. He's the boy with the bread.


	2. Chapter 2

Let Me Go On Without You

I nestle up in the cave, my new home. If someone's died the Careers must be on the prowl. My eyes stay transfixed on the door, the slingshot and the bow lie by my feet.

It's a been a long, cold, endless night by the time the anthem plays. No one has come yet, but I'm not budging. The cold seems to be passing through, exposing itself to my skin, despite the fact I'm wearing those two heavy jackets. It's a cruel wind tonight.

All I hope is they're struggling as much. The Careers, with their openly-lit fire, grand arsenal of weapons and each other's company; Foxface in her tree with her stolen stash; Thresh with his homemade resources in his meadow; and wherever poor Peeta is, around here or not, I hope it isn't getting to him. And then there's the one that's died, the one that doesn't feel any cold on the Capitol hovercraft.

The anthem plays and I look out on to the night sky, slingshot in hand.

My heart stops.

And its not Cato, Clove, Thresh or Foxface.

**A/N: Sorry I so suddenly posted the next chapter but it's a short one. Remember to tell me what you think and whether I should be posting more **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi guys as you know in the last chapter I dropped the plot changer and this edition I'm starting a wider range of character POVs, reviewing everyone's thoughts. Tell me which ones you like so we can add to the story! Thank you for the positive comments and please continue reviewing, love to hear your thoughts and get so much feedback! **

**snoobydoobydoo :) xxxxxxxxxx**

My leg falls asleep I sit here for so long, gobsmacked. It's late and the moon is a sparkling silver crescent on a lightly-lit switchboard of stars. Its all gone from their presence. His face, his identity, his district, his name, _him. _Banished into the darkness where they've all fallen.

Then I start letting the tears roll. The Capitol are watching. Haymitch is probably sitting there, wherever it is he sits and waits, thinking, _Good job, sweetheart._ I need to milk the mournful lover thing until it gets old and the Capitol stop pitying me. Then I have to rely on my skill to survive. But hey I got an 11. I can hunt, fight, survive, kill.

Its not like I care too much. Peeta and I were barely close enough to be considered _friends_, let alone star-crossed lovers. I was indifferent to him at best. We were thrust together for a few days even though we had previously never even spoken a word to each other. But he kept me alive.

What's keeping me alive?

Cato POV

'Lover boy,' Clove remarks, and then bites off a bit of a bread roll. 'You got him.'

I nod sternly, looking around. Some squirrels or some other idiot animal ransacked our food for tonight while we were out hunting.

I carefully examine the landscape we've set up camp in for tonight. We chose well, lots of space, lots of firewood. Of course there's these ugly patches of wildlife all shrivelled and grey but I conclude that they're not going to magically grow legs and spear us to death with one mighty blow.

We've got a fine array, which grows and decreases depending on what type of day it is, whether we can get closer to the water. Still, there's one less in the arena. And Lover Boy no less. So at least we won't get anything of their sickeningly pathetic act which has enough corn to it to make you want to vomit.

Clove calls me delusional insisting I want to hide out here, waiting for _him_ to emerge. She says I'm obsessed and going to get myself killed. Trust Clove. She wants to wait out for _her _by the lake and tells me she wants to be the first to stick a knife down her throat.

'Night, Cato,' she smirks, after another lecturing session about how she _senses _she is down by the lake, rolling into her sleeping bag which she has smothered with a blanket she found lying around at the Cornucopia.

'Night.'

Foxface POV

Another one dead. Too bad, he was one of the good ones. I wonder if he had, any supplies with him, that I could go and sniff out, any food…_food_…

No, my brain nags me. You've already got enough. Today, while the Careers were out hunting I stole a small pack of dried meat strips, like the ones they give to wolves, so they, the Careers, are feasting on _bread rolls_. I'm lurking in a sturdy young oak tree watching them, keeping deadly silent.

But I have never known hunger like this. I can't make food, produce food, hunt food, kill food or prepare food. I can run fast and I'm the smartest. As far as my talents go, they're not particularly useful for the arena.

Still, there's one less. One less for the Capitol to bet on, one less for the greedy sponsors with money overflowing in their deeply padded pockets to issue gifts. I got a 3 in training, so I've only received one gift: a spear. I know they want me to go around and start spearing people, fighting, _make this girl part of the action._ Because they think I can fight. Then why have I been hiding up a tree for so long, sponsors?

Thresh POV

_Final five, _I tell myself. More like final death. My sister would say something hopeless like, 'You could win, Thresh!'

But my family – my grandmother, sister and I – have decided to be honest about these Games. Even if I win, I'm going to die inside. Even though it's a Games, even though everyone is putting on some pathetic show like a persistent posse of puppies, I still want to be a person. That's the only thing I want to be. These are my Games, and I'm not playing by anyone's rules.

I'm not joining a pack of wolves, or the Careers, or whatever. I'd hate myself because then I'd have to kill and lie and snigger. Instead I escaped. I'm in the meadow now, a sharpened piece of wood as a knife, heavy boulders, selected herbs and some wheat. If only I could make the bread that reminds me of District 11, of home.

So the District 12 boy is dead. Its hard to believe a person just slips through your fingers and is gone forever. I prayed that someone – perhaps him – could kill a beastly Career, so I wouldn't have to. I try to be a merciful human being. But there's another less for me to kill. But there's another less person before I lose my person.

Why couldn't I have died?


End file.
